Love, Faithful Love
by raleighlane
Summary: Calleigh looks in on her sleeping newborn son.


**Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: Miami or the poem from which the title of this story comes (see endnote).**

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The blue and white baby monitor was silent, its red light blinking like a peaceful beacon in the darkness of her bedroom. Calleigh, however, was not at peace. She had been tossing and turning for hours now, mind too clouded and body too restless for sleep. She couldn't seem to find any rest, which she found ironic since she would undoubtedly feel perfectly able to sleep just when the baby woke again.

She decided to make the trek down the hall to check on her son, thinking that perhaps seeing him in his sleep would allow her to take something of a nap of her own. Watching her baby sleep did seem to bring her a sense of calm, though she wasn't entirely sure how much of that was due to some overwhelming motherly love, and how much was due instead to the fact that when the baby actually cooperated and slept, it cause for celebration to the exhausted new mother.

She slid quietly from the warmth of her sheets and into her soft bedroom slippers. As she padded down the hall, she considered warming a bottle (after all, it would be time for yet another feeding in less than an hour), but decided against it, heading instead straight for the door cracked open at the end of the hall. The room, which used to be a study of sorts- cluttered and messy, but a place all her own- was now unrecognizable. Her space had given way to a room tailored specifically to her tiny son, all pastel colors and furniture featuring no sharp edges of any kind. The change was just one of so many shifts she had been forced to make in her life in the past year. Sometimes she was unsure that the essence of Calleigh- the woman who had existed just a year ago- remained, replaced as it had been by Calleigh the mother. Of course she didn't regret the changes, the sacrifices that she had made, but that had been an unexpected trial which she had been forced to cope with in addition to the other physical and mental challenges associated with parenting. She peered into the white, wooden crib and smiled softly at the sight of her perfect son.

The newborn in front of her made a noise, a tiny sigh which interrupted the absolute quiet of the room and snagged both Calleigh's attention and her tired heart. Stepping closer to the crib, she extended a long, slender finger and stroked the small, soft thatch of dark hair on her son's head. His face was turned towards her as he lay on his stomach, and slowly, she trailed the pad of her forefinger over a cheek, rosy even in sleep, to a miniature version of her own nose. She smoothed her thumb across the infant's brow, admiring the contrast between the pale, almost luminescent cast of her skin against the darker coloring of her child. She pulled her finger back quickly when the baby gave another little sigh, this one sounding suspiciously like a miniature version of his father's snores. Calleigh let out an answering sigh, giving the mobile above the crib a tap, though she knew that the baby wouldn't see it in his sleep.

She bent toward the crib again and placed an arm along the top rail, allowing her head to rest there while she rubbed small circles on the baby's back, marveling at his softness and warmth. She let her mind wander and, as it so often did lately, it fixated on Eric. The fiery pain of her grief flowed through her veins, and she didn't try to stop the tears that journeyed slowly down her cheeks, falling on the soft blue baby blanket in her son's crib. She ached for herself as she had ever since Eric's death at the hands of Russian mobsters.

However, in the weeks since her son's birth, she had found that the pain she felt from being unable to feel Eric's arms around her as she slept at night and the comfort, acceptance and understanding he had offered her during the waking hours was dwarfed by the sorrow she felt in light of the fact that her son would never know his father. She hadn't been prepared for the baby, hadn't even known that she was pregnant when Eric had been taken from her, and she acutely felt the bitter irony in the fact that of the two of them, Eric had been the one prepared for a baby, had been the natural parent, the guaranteed good father. But he would never know his son, his namesake. He would never teach the child to swim or play baseball, would never get to burst with pride at his son's accomplishments, would never someday teach him how to be a good man.

Calleigh stepped back from the child, falling gently into the rocking chair in the corner of the room. She looked at baby Eric Timothy Delko, warm in his dreams, while his mobile danced above, and for a moment it was all she could do not to allow her emotions to overwhelm her. He was so perfect, so innocent and completely unmarred by the tentacles of grief that had wrapped themselves around every part of her own life. Within her son, there was no Calleigh without Eric. The baby was literally, genetically, a perfect combination of both of his parents, and it was within him that she still existed as a whole being, unseparated forever from the love of her life. There was something so good and right and beautiful about the fact that pieces of herself and of Eric were so inextricably intertwined within another human being. She knew that he would be in her heart forever, knew that he was there with them in spirit, but it was still comforting to know that even physically, she would never be without a part of him.

She turned her face upward, looking out the window of her son's room through the bleary screen of tears, and focused on the twinkling stars. Her thoughts drifted through memories, tied together by a fanciful musing that each wonderful memory that she had shared with Eric had been witnessed by the same stars that she was seeing now. That same night sky would witness the upbringing of their child, and she knew that somewhere, somehow, he would too. It was a beautiful night, and even though her pain was almost debilitating now, she understood that through the years and under those stars, everything would be alright.

With that thought, and with the salty tear tracks still wet on her cheeks, Calleigh fell into a light sleep, resting in dreams of Eric's love and the infinite night sky.

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**A****/N: So… that was quite a bit different than Easing In, yeah? Let me know what you thought if you'd like to make my day or yell at me for killing Eric off.**

**The idea for this fic came from the song **_Everything'll Be Alright_** by Joshua Radin; I encourage you to youtube it; it is a lovely and somewhat haunting song.**

**The title of this fic comes from the sonnet **_Surprised by Joy_** by William Wordsworth:**

Surprised by joy, impatient as the wind

I turned to share the transport--Oh! with whom

But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,

That spot which no vicissitude can find?

Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--

But how could I forget thee? Through what power,

Even for the least division of an hour,

Have I been so beguiled as to be blind

To my most grievous loss?--That thought's return

Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,

Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,

Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;

That neither present time, nor years unborn

Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

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End file.
